


I'll be your sinner, in secret

by Diaphenia



Category: Carly Rae Jepsen (Musician), Kesha (Musician)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/F, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: Carly shook her glass. “You still haven’t told me what the mission is.”Kesha leaned forward. “We are going to assassinate the bad men of Hollywood.”





	I'll be your sinner, in secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [middlecyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlecyclone/gifts).



> Hello middlecyclone! I couldn't help myself and had to write for your prompt when you appeared on the pinch hit list! 
> 
>  
> 
> Note for anyone reading this: this is a fic that deals with some stuff relating to current events in Hollywood. Please scroll to the bottom for specifics, and take care of yourselves.

“I’m here on a very special mission and I need your particular skill set,” Kesha said, pulling off her sunglasses. 

Carly looked around the cafe. The servers, who had previously been so plentiful, had all mysteriously disappeared. She needed more water if she was going to get through this conversation. “But why me?”

“Frankly, all my other options are out. Rhi is guarding the big fashion show in New York, Bey is on a yacht somewhere, assisting the Coast Guard, Taylor working on some special social network project--”

“I’m flattered you thought of--”

“Selena has health issues right now, the Haim sisters are in Hawaii, Drake is in New Zealand with the hobbits or elves or whatever. Literally, you were one of my few options left.” Kesha scowled. “I guess I could have called Ed, but I just think he’s a whiner. You know he is.”

Carly shook her glass, willing the ice to melt. “You still haven’t told me what the mission is.”

She leaned forward. “We are going to assassinate the bad men of Hollywood.”

Somewhere, in the main room of the cafe, there was a sound like shattering glass. “You want me to kill people?”

Kesha’s eyes darkened. “These men aren’t people. They’re monsters.”

Carly felt the air thicken. She’d taken out men before, but that was always in service of the mission. This _was_ the mission.

“You’ve read the papers. I’ve seen you, sitting at your desk, like you don’t know what the internet is. You know about this casting couch, going back to the beginning. These men, using their power and influence to torment women, and people of all genders. It’s not OK. And a few of them are going to jail or lose their jobs, but most of them? They’re cockroaches, scurrying away while the light is on them. They’ll hide in the shadows, biding their time, planning their next meal. And the minute that spotlight is gone, they’ll come right back, grabbing and groping and destroying lives in the process. I’m not going to let it happen under my watch. _I’m not_.”

Tentatively, Carly got up, crouching by Kesha’s table. She put an arm around Kesha, gently, and after an agonizing moment, Kesha leaned in. The two embraced awkwardly. 

“I’ll do it,” Carly said. 

“I knew you were a woman after my own heart,” Kesha said. 

“Is this official department business, or...?”

“We have the resources available to us, but I’m sure, if we’re caught, our boss would disavow all knowledge.”

That sounded like their boss. She was a smart woman, in the business for decades and beloved all the same. “Well, if Cher approves.”

***

Carly studied the dossier over that next week. Maps, blueprints, and habits were laid out in black and white. She was a quick study on those things, committing to memory hundreds of facts. She never knew what would be handy, so she read up on him, his exes, his friends, his co-stars. 

She also played as many of his movies as she could, background noise while she studied. 

In the back of the folder, Kesha had taped an envelope. Her messy handwriting was scrawled across it. _This is a tough read_ , she’d written. 

Inside was a photocopy of a police testimony, signed by a victim. Carly started the testimony. Only a few paragraphs in, she turned off the television. 

The victim described, in excruciating detail, a sexual assault that had left her bruised. There were pictures of her that had been clipped to the original report, a little dark but there she was, obviously injured. 

There’d been a rape kit done, as well as notes from a police interview with the actor. The kit hadn’t been analyzed, and was supposedly in a lab somewhere in Michigan, waiting to go through. The actor had a celebrity lawyer who had refused to answer questions. 

Carly pulled her laptop up, trying to figure out what had happened to the woman from the report. She’d moved out of LA half a year later, moving back to her hometown. She’d worked at a bank, waitressing on the side, paying all her taxes. 

She’d passed away recently, in a car crash. There’d been no justice for her. 

***

Carly felt a little uneasy as she looked across the room. There was Kesha, dressed as a cater-waiter in black and white, holding a tray of appetizers. Carly was trying to catch her eye when Kesha saw her and winked. Carly felt like she turned as red as her dress. The aggressive blush she’d inherited from her mom was humiliating. 

They’d snuck into a fancy Hollywood party, where their target—their victim—was celebrating his birthday. His Oscar, earned years ago, was on prominent display. The seven or so Golden Globes were much farther back on the table, almost hidden behind the cake. 

Her mission? Isolate the victim, and shoot him full of air from a syringe to create an untraceable air embolism. If that failed, shoot him with the Colt strapped to her inner thigh. 

The actor, her victim, was supposed to be in his library, according to Kesha. 

_Break down the mission into steps_ , she told herself. She took a deep breath.

She weaved her way through the crowd, grabbing a champagne flute from a passing waiter. There were hundreds of people there in the room, all dressed to the nines. Her own outfit was gorgeous, a dress that flowed to the knees for coverage but cut in a A-line for ease of movement. The top was low cut enough to be distracting, but the straps were practical enough to cover a bra. 

She slipped into the library. It was huge, like a movie. There was a fireplace glowing warmly, and over the mantle was a large oil painting of himself. Next to it, much smaller, was a photo with his children from a previous marriage. 

The actor was in the corner, regaling his friends with a story. _And then I slapped her and told her it was ‘method,’_ , and the circle around him laughed. 

She pushed her way in. “I thought it was hilarious,” she said, forcing a smirk on her face.

His eyes narrowed, and for a minute, she thought he would call her out and send her away. Instead, he smiled at the sight of her. She knew she was his type—young, mostly. 

“Come here and I’ll tell you another,” he said, waving at his own lap. 

It was nauseating to do so, but she perched down anyway. 

He told another story, this one about his second ex-wife, a woman who had recently put out a cookbook. Apparently, she’d been having an affair with the poolboy, so he’d slept with his co-star, his love interest in a cheap comedy he’d done for a streaming service. Carly hadn’t seen it, but she pretended she had, telling him he’d been _so funny_. “I’ve never even seen it. The whole picture was a tax write-off,” he’d said, laughing at his own joke. 

Eventually, he’d grown tired of his own jokes, and sent away his friends. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he asked. 

She looked around. They were completely alone, but she had to make sure no one would walk in. “I’d love to show you more,” she whispered. “Let me lock the door.”

“No need,” he said, leaning over towards a wall, where he hit a button. There was a quick _click_. “Try it. That door is shut.”

She hopped off his lap, grateful for the reprevieve. The door to the library was indeed locked. 

“What do you keep a button like that for?” she asked. 

He smirked. “You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.” 

When she looked back on that day, later, she realized that was the moment he’d shifted for her from _victim_ to _target_. She pulled her clutch closer, knowing it contained two syringes. It would be a quick death, at least. 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to be here, with you. Ever since I was in middle school, and you were in that one movie, that Shakespeare movie.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, and he smiled lecherously. In a flash he was up, stalking towards her. She quickly pressed a hand on the door, just to know she could leave. She smiled encouragingly, clicking the lock on her purse. 

He was pressed against her in a moment, and she bit her lip, willing him to not try to kiss her. He darted towards her, catching the side of her mouth. She tried to pull out a syringe, but in the process, she dropped them both. 

The noise startled him. He swooped down. “Are you doing drugs? Listen, I don’t do that shit anymore. Ever since I went clean, my mind’s been clearer. You gotta get those out of here.”

She blushed again. This had probably never happened to Britney. 

“I’m _so_ sorry, she said, shoving them back in her purse. It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ use them, but the calibration was sure to be off. At best, they might work, but at worst, she’d just be poking him with a sharp stick. Still satisfying, but probably not terribly effective. 

At least she still had the gun. 

“You’re so right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Would you mind _telling me_ how you kicked your habit?”

The actor came alive at the question. He launched into a story involving a yogi, soul cycle, and an anti-drug medicine that sounded suspiciously like a drug. 

While he explained how she could get off drugs, she studied her surroundings. There was a window she could escape out of, after she’d shot him, but that wasn’t ideal. She’d been seen by a bunch of his crew, and even with the blond wig and the heavy makeup, it would be better if she wasn’t caught unaware on extra security cameras. The best thing she could do was leave out the front door. 

She leaned against the door frame with practiced casualness, leaning carefully just so, feeling for her gun. He never broke his monologue.

She pulled the gun behind her back. She’d never killed someone like this, in cold blood with hundreds of party guests down the hall. She willed herself to pull the gun forward and finish the job. She clicked off the safety, leaving a pleasant and engaged smile on her face. 

The actor was using frantic hand gestures, describing an unsuccessful intervention from before Carly was born. 

_It would be so easy,_ she reminder herself. He was right here, and hadn’t noticed her in any real way since the story had started. 

_Move your hand_ , she thought. _Move it_.

She slowly pulled the gun from behind her back. 

The door slammed open, knocking Carly to the side. 

“I’m ending this,” Kesha said, her own syringe in hand. 

***  
They moved him. Not far, not to a trash heap or a car trunk. Just back to the seat he’d been in when he’d told that story a hour ago. It would look like a natural occurrence. He was a bit young to go, but he’d had health problems in recent years. Combined with the stress and excitement of the party, it was hardly worth considering that this could be the work of two young women.

Just the same, she threw her wig into the fire, and used a makeup wipe to uncover her face. Kesha had a pink jacket, which she threw on. She let down her hair, and the transformation from waitstaff to guest was complete. 

“You’re really good with locks,” Carly said. 

“I keep busy,” Kesha said, fluffing her hair casually. “It’s amazing what sorts of work classes are available when you decide to crash them.”

“No, listen,” Carly said, touching her wrist lightly, feeling Kesha shiver just a little. “I am so glad you showed up when you did.”

“You were gone for a long time. I was concerned you were in trouble.”

“I froze. I just couldn’t quite--”

“You did the right thing,” Kesha said. “It’s good your heart is so open. Compassion, however misplaced, is a good trait. Really. We can’t all be stone-cold foxes with a desire to hunt down these boys.”

“I swear I’ll be better next time.”

Kesha’s eyes shone. “You want to keep going?”

“I saw your stack of dossiers. It was extensive.”

“I’m so--”

Kesha was cut off at the sound of the door handle. 

“Quick,” Carly whispered. She hit the lights and drew Kesha into her arms and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm, tasting like cheap lipstick. Kesha was a distractingly good kisser, but Carly still managed to propel her closer to the door, to block the view of whoever was on the other side.

“I’m so sorry,” the voice whispered, shutting the door almost as quickly as he’d let himself in. 

Carly pulled back.   
Kesha looked at her mouth. 

Carly might not have been brave earlier, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be brave now. “Do you want to keep going? Just in case someone comes back.”

“Just in case,” Kesha said, winking. “And then let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been marked as Choose Not to Warn. However, I do want people reading to know what unexpected things are in this story:
> 
> Carly and Kesha work for a vague government agency. Outside the bounds of their usual work, they decide to take down men involved in the Hollywood sexual assault scandals that have come to light in recent months. Kesha's IRL lawsuit against her former producer is not mentioned, but she does passionately defend the idea of assassinating creeps and predators. Carly reads over a dossier including reference to a woman getting bruised during a sexual assault, with photos attached to a police report, and a rape kit that was never tested. He is implied to be guilty, but has never (and will never) go before a court. Later, the unnamed actor (an amalgamation rather than a real-life figure) tells the tail-end of a story that involves slapping a co-star and blaming method acting. He reveals he has a button that locks the door from across the room. Carly flirts with him in a honeypot-type attempt at assassination, with him attempting to kiss her while she's handling her weapon. He is killed off-screen. Carly implies she wants to hunt down more of these Hollywood people.


End file.
